Your Turn
by FireBurnsBrighter
Summary: During the Second World War, soldier John Watson is captured by Captain Sherlock Holmes. John is certain that he will die at his hand- but Holmes has mercy. He will grant John his freedom- if he can decipher his riddles


_**A/N; Okay, so this was written for MCXI on the Johnlock Challenges grab bag thingmy. I got given the prompt 'With a gun barrel between your teeth, you speak only in vowels,' which is hellish to write for. I now know from research that it has something to do with the book Fight Club. Hm. It took about 3 hours to think of something sensible to do with it, so I hope this is okay! I would have drawn something if I could have :)  
Please note that this is only a crossover because some of the riddles are from The Hobbit, and it reminds me of 'Riddles in the Dark' a little. You don't have to have read it or seen the movie to understand!**_

* * *

It's a fight day today for me. Going over the top, into the battlefield.

Gun- check. Bayonett- check. Helmet- check. Readiness- ready as I'll ever be.

We line up, piling in between the sandbags and the mud. We're the third lot out today. We never know who'll come back at night, but it's what I'm willing to give up for the thrill of danger and battle. Most of the others don't feel like that, they didn't choose to be here. They think about their families, about going home. I think about the war.

Shouts, commands, time to move. I lead the way up the ladder, over the banking. The sound of gunshots is even louder than down in the hole. I duck down, start to crawl. The sound of falling bodies behind me, those who didn't get down quick enough. I don't look back to see who it was.

I run, gun lifted, into a patch of bushes. Start shooting. Look around, dodge some bullets, throw back a hand grenade that someone sent my way- hear it explode.

My ears are still ringing, so that's why I don't hear the footsteps approaching from behind me. Don't sense someone else's presence. Don't know what's going to happen until the butt of a gun slams into the side if my head, effectively knocking me out.

When I wake up, it's dark. My arms feel heavy, and my back aches. Sat on a chair with hands tied behind my back. Original.  
There seems to be spit running down my chin. Gagged?  
I try to speak, but it doesn't come out right.

'Heh a I?' Where am I.

As my eyes adjust in the dim light, I see a tall figure standing before me.

'With a gun barrel between your teeth, you speak only in vowels.' Deep voice.

Ah. Gun in mouth. So that's what it is, then. I should probably be more scared.

'Haks.' Thanks.

'You don't seem very scared, Soldier Watson.' He cocks his head to the side, then removes the gun. I swallow, my mouth is dry, but not from fear- just from lack of saliva.

'You don't seem very threatening.' He laughs at that.

'Do I not, John Watson? Do you not fear me, despite the position I have you in, and the weapon I hold?'

'Not really. I came here with the knowledge that I could die any day. That it appears to be at your hand just adds an interesting twist'

Another laugh, a rich baritone. Who is this man? Obviously from the opposing side in this war, who else would kidnap me? But he holds no trace of an accent that would indicate so. Maybe he moved from England at some point?

'Indeed. Now, about our current situation-'

'You mean the situation where you have me tied to a chair and are going to kill me?'

He frowns 'Whatever gave you the idea that I was going to kill you?'

'Hm, well. We suppose could start with the part where you knocked me out. Or when you attached me to a chair and held a gun to my mouth. Or rather, the fact that I'm _still here._'

'It was the only way I could get you here without you asking too many questions. It's hardly my fault that you assumed I was going to kill you.'

'Well, why else does one kidnap a soldier during war time, if not to torture them for information, then kill them?'

'Curiosity.' Well, that is cryptic indeed.

'Curiosity, you say? What could you possibly want to know about me?'

'Oh, it's not that I want to know anything about you- I already know the basic facts. I would just like to see if you are as clever as I suspect. An experiment of sorts, you could call it.'

'Basic fa- what on God's earth? How could you know anything about me? We met not an hour ago!'

'I have been watching you for some time, Doctor Watson. Knowing is not about asking, but about _observing, _you see. And I find myself to be rather good at that.'

'Fine. You know me. Tell me, then. Tell me about myself.' Might as well challenge this clearly deranged bastard while I can.

He clears his throat before starting in on a long speech.

'You come from a middle class family in England. You were a doctor before you were in the army. You chose to be here- doctors are valuable and were allowed to stay at home. The reason for your choice, well, part of it is due to the fact that you recently found out about your wife's affair. She doesn't know you know, and you would never leave her- you're far too honorable. But I'd say the main reason you're here is for the danger. The action is what you strive for. Not enough of that in doctoring old ladies in London, is there? I suppose not. Far too boring for my liking.' He pauses, then, 'I presume you would like to know my name. I'm Sherlock Holmes.' Sherlock turns around, and stalks to the other side of the room.

'That was... brilliant. Bloody well brilliant, if you'll excuse the phrase.' Honestly, how he could know all of that is beyond me.

'Not the usual reaction, I must say.'

'What do people normally say?' Amazing, perfect, genius?

'Piss off.' Slight hint of a smile.

'So, why am I here? What is the point?'

'I told you, John Watson, I want to test you. I want to see if you are as boring and mindless and stupid as everyone else.'

I swallow. 'And how do you propose to do that? What's in it for me?'

'Your freedom. Appease me, and you will never have to see me again. I've not decided on the alternative yet.'

Well. Can't be too hard? 'What do I have to do? How will you test me?'

'Riddles, John. Riddles.'

* * *

'Lets start with an easy one.' He says, untying my wrists, 'I am the beginning of the end, and the end of space and time.'

'Hm, alright.' I ponder it over. Beginning of the end- birth? Death? Or.. e? It fits. 'The letter E'

'Well done, John. But do not think that they shall all be so easy.'

'Of course not'

'Okay. Another. I am looking at a photograph of someone. Brothers and sisters, I have none, but that man's father is my father's son. Who am I looking at?'

'Brothers...none... father..son..' I'm drawing in the air, an imaginary family tree.

'Oh! Haha, indeed. You're looking at a picture of yourself. I liked that one.'

'Good. A harder one, now. There are four brothers in this world that were all born together. The first runs and never wearies. The second eats and is never full. The third drinks and is always thirsty. The fourth sings a song that has no melody. What are they?'

I smile slightly. I won't tell him, i'll make a show of figuring it out. I've heard this one before, most people have.

'The elements. Water, fire, earth and wind.'

'Clever. A cloud was my mother, the wind is my father, my son is the cool stream, and my daughter is the fruit of the land. A rainbow is my bed, the earth my final resting place, and I'm the torment of man. What am I?'

'That's sweet. You're rain, Sherlock.'

'This thing all things devours: Birds, beasts, trees, flowers; Gnaws iron, bites steel; Grinds hard stones to meal; Slays king, ruins town, And beats high mountain down.'

'Okay, okay. A little time for this one. All things.. ah. Time. _Time_.'

This goes on for hours, until my eyes are dropping closed. He lets me sleep.

* * *

When I wake, my back is stiff and a brittle blanket covers me.

'What has roots as nobody sees, Is taller than trees, Up, up it goes, And yet never grows?'

'Sh'lock. Wait. Sleepy.'

'No, John. We need to get your brain working. Come on! What has roots as nobody sees, Is taller than trees, Up, up it goes, And yet never grows? Tell me!'

'Um.. Mountains?'

'Yes, good, good. Quicker next time.'

* * *

Days pass like this, until all that exists in the world are Sherlock and his crazy riddles.

'It cannot be seen, cannot be felt, Cannot be heard, cannot be smelt. It lies behind stars and under hills, And empty holes it fills. It comes first and follows after, Ends life, kills laughter.'

Darkness.

'What fastens two people yet touches only one?'

A wedding ring. I spin my own unconsciously. Sherlock scoffs, 'sentiment'.

'What is it that you will break even when you name it?'

Silence.

'Lives without a body, hears without ears, speaks without a mouth, to which the air alone gives birth.'

An echo.

'Who are the two brothers who live on opposite sides of the road yet never see each other?'

Eyes.

'I am the beginning of sorrow, and the end of sickness. You cannot express happiness without me, yet I am in the midst of crosses. I am always in risk, yet never in danger. You may find me in the sun, but I am never out of darkness.'

The letter S.

'What is it the more you take away the larger it becomes?'

A hole.

* * *

On what I estimate to be about a week, Sherlock begins to slow down on his influx of questions. During his riddling, he deduces things about me. He knows my deepest secrets, my oldest fears, my greatest hopes.

'What can last a second, but stay with us forever?'

Well, that's a good one. Very philosophical. I'll have to think about it.

I'm about to answer, it's a kiss! Obviously, should have seen that. Wouldn't think Sherlock'd ask something sentimental like that.

'Its a ki-'

'Shh, John,' Sherlock hushes, then he kisses me.

I'm taken aback. It's sweet, a butterfly kiss. Cautious, timid. Perfect.

I kiss back, deepen it.

'It's a kiss, of course, John, it's a kiss.' Sherlock whispers against my lips, cool breath blowing into my mouth.

I kiss him harder.

What am I doing? This isn't proper. He's a man, I'm a man. I've heard of things like this before, it does happen, but it's always quietened up, kept secret. Things like this are forbidden. I'm married.

I don't care.

* * *

When we pull apart, i'm dizzy. My eyes are still closed, my cheeks flushed, corners of my lips turned up is a blissful half-smile.

'Well. Ahem. Sorry about that, John Watson.'

I open my eyes to see Sherlock busying himself with something of the other on the other side of the room. He looks flustered, and I find that oddly satisfying. _I _did that.

'It's fine, Sherlock.. more than fine, actually.' I blush.

'My apologies, please forgive me, it was terribly uncouth- wait, what?' Sherlock Holmes, asking for repetition.

'I said, it's fine. It's all fine.'

'Oh, well, okay then, if you say so. I could just... kiss you again?'

'Yes, I believe that would be amiable.' I smile at his awkwardness, it's endearing.

'Well, if it's _amiable.' _

He begins to walk forward, all shyness gone. Then suddenly things don't feel right. If I were to look back, I wouldn't be able to pinpoint the exact moment when I decided to throw myself from my sitting place, and cover Sherlock's body with mine. I'm glad I did.

The momentum pushes us both to the ground, me sprawled on top of him, his sharp angles pressing into me. I hear a bullet flying a few meters above us, where Sherlock would have been standing.

'John-'

But it's no time for talking, I roll over to the left, pulling him with me, expecting the next bullet. It skims past.

'We've got to get out of here, Sherlock!'

He nods, and we dodge and roll our way to the door. I grab my gun, propped against the wall, on the way out, blindly firing bullets in the direction we are receiving them from.

We reach the door, and I feel relief spread throughout me. I don't know why I allowed myself to slow down in that split second before we got outside.

The bullet tears through my shoulder, blood blossoming on my shirt before I register the pain. And when I do, spots swim in my vision.

'John! _John!_'

Sherlock? Where are you? Help. It hurts.

I follow his voice, I feel cool air on my face. Hands lowering me down.

_Don't let them get me, Sherlock, make them go away. _

'Bullet wound to the shoulder, get some disinfectant and bandage it up, take him to the base. There's a doctor there.'

Okay, they're paramedics, they'll help me. The bad guys are gone. But where are you, Sherlock?

I want you to be here.

'_John!'_ Sherlock?

I turn my head, see you, meters away, held back. Your shouting to me. Whats that?

_'I will find you, John.'_

I nod, show that I understand. You'll find me, I know you will.

* * *

_5 years later_

'Good dog, Rodger. Good boy.'

I take the newspaper from his mouth, shaking off the saliva.

_August 1945_

_As most of you will know due to radio broadcasts, letters from your soldiers, word of mouth, other media, the Second World War has come to an end. _

_Though our soldiers have fought bravely, and will always be remembered for their services, many of them will not return home to us. Death is part of life, and war, and_ _over time, we will all learn to accept this. I am aware that my condolences will mean almost nothing to you, through paper, but please know that they come from the bottom of my heart. We are all a part of this, and we must rise together as a nation and prevail, even through the toughest of times like these. We hope that you can find support and comfort in friends and family._

_I wish you all of the luck in the world, and again, thank you for your continued support. Know that we will try to help you in any way, and remember, that even the most broken of things can be fixed, if one has the will to do so._

My heart aches. From loss, of both the battle and friends made there. I know that I will not see many of them again, that is simply the way during war.

But my heart, for all of my brain's objections, cannot forget Sherlock Holmes. The man who had given me riddles and kissed me.

I had tried tracking him down, at first hoping that our paths would cross- a nudge of fate, but with no results.

I had to trust that he would find me, that we would meet again.

I couldn't give up hope entirely. I could never do that.

There's a knock at the door. I limp to the to the hallway. Fumble for the key.

I open the door, hear a gasp from above me. I look up.

_Sherlock_

'S-sherlock' My voice catches in my throat. Is this happening?

He takes a step inside, I take a step back for him to get in. He closes the door.

He takes another step forward, and I don't take another back. We're nose to nose, our breaths mingling in the others'.

He lifts his hand, brushes away a stray tear from my cheek that I didn't realize was there.

'Shh'

He moves closer,

He kisses me, softly.

_'I told you I would find you.'_


End file.
